


Close to Tears

by TheWitchBoy



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: (Tim is just an idiot), ADHD mention, Accidental Cuddling, Allusion to depression, Best Friends, Conner is a good Friend, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Just My Luck (the romcom), Literal Sleeping Together, Lord of the Rings references, M/M, Mild Depressive Episode (not discussed), Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Sadness, Stupid Romcoms, Tim has ADHD, Timkon, Unrequited Love, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchBoy/pseuds/TheWitchBoy
Summary: Tim is having a Low Day. He doesn't really know why, just that it's the Problem of the Moment. Kon is a good friend and doesn't leave him to deal with it on his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done chaptered things on AO3, so figuring out how to fix the Notes was a bit of an adventure! I think I managed, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Approx. 700 words of me pretending it's Tim having an inexplicably Bad Day, instead of me. Also: approx. 700 words of pushing my weird love of bad romcoms onto Tim.
> 
> Edit: Raised from G to T for, idk, mild cussin' and some bro-cuddling.

Tim huffed and covered his face.

It hadn’t been a bad day, per se, but he felt so. Worn down. Defeated. Heavy. He felt like a  thin, gray sponge in the bottom of a sink, sopping wet and deserving of nothing less than a trip to the trash can.  But not because it had been a particularly bad day. Just a build up of underwhelming and pressing days.

“Thin,” he muttered to himself, “like butter scraped  over  too much  bread .”  And no evil Ring to blame for it, either.

Kon  was quiet. He was quiet for a good, long moment.  And he’d been mostly quiet since arriving.  Then  he wet his lips and leaned forward on the edge of the bed . He had h is head tucked to the side, looking back to where Tim lay with his hands covering his face.  “Are… you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. A beat. Then two. “No.  I don’t know. I will be? ”  Thin. Too thin.

“Okay,”  Kon  rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I… do anything? Can I help? ”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. He felt small and lame and ridiculously heavy. He felt like a burden. “Probably not. I’ll be okay.” He was still covering his face. He felt a little like he might cry. Wouldn’t that just  beat all?  “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. Quieter. To himself.

“Okay,”  Kon  said. He was just as quiet. “ Would you…”

Tim glanced through his fingers, feeling warm and puffy and a little too close to tears. He had no reason for it, either. It was stupid.  But through his fingers, he could see  Kon  looking around, looking for inspiration, something to suggest.

“We could watch a movie?”  Kon  said.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Kon  turned to him and, for a brief moment, Tim met his gaze. Then Tim went  back to hiding his face and feeling too warm and too red and too choked up. Too close to crying over nothing in front of the  boy he liked who didn’t know Tim liked him.  God.

God!

“No,” Tim mumbled.

“Do you… want me to stay?”

He wanted to say ‘no,’ to that, too. “Please,” was what he mumbled into his hands.

“We could watch one of those stupid  romcoms ,”  Kon  said. Tim felt the mattress shift . Then he felt the plop of weight next to him as  Kon  dropped back against the mattress at his side. “One of the badly-reviewed ones with like two stars . Something from the 2000s.  What was the one Chris Pine movie? About luck?”

Tim squirmed.

“Come on, the one with the really lucky woman and the guy with the really bad luck?”

“What about it?”

“We could watch it. You like that one, right?  Lindsay Lohan and Chris Pine?”

“Just My Luck,” Tim gave in. He peeked through his fingers again.  Kon  was right there. Super close. He covered his eyes again . “Yeah. We could watch that. I mean. If you don’t mind…”

“Well, from experience, I know  romcoms  usually pull you out of a funk, and I’d put up with TV static if it meant pulling a smile out of you.”

That was a nice sentiment.

You know, except that  Kon  used to watch TV static as his actual pastime. White noise and all that. Making the world a bit smaller  for him, a bit more focused.  Like how Tim put on music while doing his homework, kind of. Except Tim did that so that his ADHD didn’t spiral when he was trying to do  geometry homework , not because  superhearing  drowned him in ambient noises from as far away as Happy Harbor , on a good day.

“And, uh,”  Kon  reached out and touched his elbow. “If you want,  or I mean. You don’t have to pretend. That. You’re not trying not to cry. Or whatever. I wouldn’t judge you.”

Tim made a small, strangled noise. “I’m not close to crying!”

“Right,”  Kon’s  voice was smiling. “But if you decide you need a good cry, I can pretend not to notice, if you like. Or  I could try hugging you. I’m really bad at hugging . But I could try.”

Tim gave a thick sigh. “Thanks,  Kon …”

If he was a bit braver, he thought he might even accept the hug offer.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying to get back into my YJ TimKon series, but it's a bit slow going. I figured I'd throw this out there, in the meantime, so that ya'll'd know I wasn't dead. (Yeah. "Ya'll'd." I went there.)
> 
> Also, trying a new thing: shorter notes sections!
> 
>  
> 
> Briefly: I've been getting back into Original Writing, dealing with Life Stuff, and trying to stay sane. More recently, I've decided that I want to make fanfic writing part of my daily writing routine. What does this mean? Well, hopefully, it means "more fic"!
> 
> And that's it, I think. Oh! And I'm going to try and start responding to comments again. I always, always read comments, but I haven't responded to them in awhile. I'd like to change that.
> 
> That's it! See you guys around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim fell asleep sometime during or after the movie.
> 
> It's a rather pleasant wake-up, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about twice as long as the first part, whoops!
> 
> So, basically, I saw a comment asking what happened during/after the movie and that made me think about it, and thinking about it drove me to write it.
> 
> Now, full disclosure, I haven't seen Just My Luck in something like 5 - 10 years. So, I didn't want to write "during the movie" stuff (I only remember key moments, my favourite bits). The answer, obviously, was to focus on "after the movie."

He woke, fuzzy in the head and groggy from a too-long nap, but comfortable.

The room had dimmed significantly and the main title of Just My Luck was on what had to be its hundredth cycle. The clock haphazardly balanced on top of Tim’s TV said it was 5:42. He probably missed dinner.

He was too comfortable to care, though, actually.

There was a strong sense of warmth and safety and the mild, subtle scent of a cologne Tim thought might be Yves Saint Laurent. (“La Nuit De  L’homme ,” his brain offered contently, and then: “Bergamot and lavender, that’s nice.”)

Tim curled into the core of warmth and safety (and of cologne on the tail-end of all-day wear).

(It wasn’t really an Earl Grey kind of scent, the bergamot, it was more of a spicy something with citrusy-sweet bergamot under that, and then the lavender. It was nice. Calming. It settled thickly over Tim’s frayed nerves and post-anxiety jitters, like a dark molasses.)

For a long moment – the Just My Luck DVD menu cycled two and a half times – Tim just breathed and dozed and let himself feel safe.

But, no, that couldn’t last. His brain was waking up, and with it a sense of dread and warning. A veritable miasma of “uh-oh” and “careful” and “mayday.”

No one knew what to get Tim for Christmas. That is, no one in his civilian life (Steph excepted). He always seemed to be receiving shit from top ten lists, be those things colognes, razors, neckties, or whatever trendy new gadgets were being passed off as “useful” and “life-changing.” Emphasis, here, being on colognes.

Tim tended to regift whenever he could. He liked Yves Saint Laurent’s colognes well enough, as far as seventy-dollar colognes went —

(Seventy dollars. G od  forbid these people spend their money on something worthwhile instead of 3.3 ounces of designer perfume with masculine marketing.)

—he liked Yves Saint Laurent’s  La Nuit De  L’homme  and Y and whatever else. As far as expensive-ass cologne went, the scents weren’t too overpowering, and had nice combinations. Whatever. He liked them. That’s exactly why he regifted the duplicates and triplicates he received (from “family friends” he’d never met in his life).

And the Team had this one Secret Santa thing they did.

Tim had drawn  Conner ’s name. The slip had said “ Superboy ,” but Tim – and every Team member ever – knew him as  Conner ,  at the time. He was  actually  a bit touchy about “ Superboy ,” even.

He was so new to the Team, at the time. He didn’t know Conner, like, at all. If he’d known Conner better, he probably would have gotten him something... whatever. More personalized. But he didn’t, so he’d put 3.3 ounces of seventy-dollar YSL cologne in a little gift box and tried not to think of how exorbitant and expensive the gift looked.

Everyone probably assumed that Dick had given the present.

Tim had always been okay with that, because he overthought the gift ever after.

And back to present day, present time, waking up in his bed surrounded by a spicy-sweet scent underlaid with lavender, Tim realized that the sense of warmth and safety had to be coming from Kon (a name that was much more recently attributed to Conner). Kon who was all warmth and all safety, all the time. And who wore that stupid cologne all the time (Tim had replaced the bottle, once, when he thought Kon wouldn’t notice, even).

Tim opened his eyes to confirm what he already knew. Yeah. There was the edge of the red hope insignia against the soft black tee shirt material. Tim’s nose was practically buried in Kon's sternum.

He started to edge back, to wiggle out of a grip Kon had around his waist.

Well, he should have known better. Supers had,  ya  know,  supersenses  and  superstrength  (and super-good-looks, holy shit). Tim gave up with a sigh and set his head back down on the quilt. “Thank you,” he said.

Kon cracked an eye open and smiled. “You’re welcome”

Tim rolled his eyes and looked down at a loose thread on his quilt. He was still so close to  Kon . When he breathed, the cologne continued to invade his senses, gently and  unoverwhelmingly . ( Whelmingly ?  _ No, don’t go there, Tim. _ )

Kon didn’t remove the anchor of his arm.

Tim got the sense that he would. If asked to or if nudged away. That was precisely why he decided he wouldn’t.

The dimness in the room thickened enticingly. Tim thought he could possibly fall right back asleep, in the arms of arguably one of the most attractive young men, like, ever. But that felt dishonest, somehow. Like cheating. But he couldn’t figure out which game he would be cheating at.

“Are you feeling better?”  Kon  asked.

His voice was quiet. Unnervingly intimate in the setting (lying on top of Tim’s quilts, on his bed, in his room, the door closed and the sun dipping toward the horizon). His eyes were thoughtful and kind and blue. It was too dark in Tim’s room to actually see the shade of blue, but Tim knew it by heart. Because he was that kind of ridiculous and stupid.

And head over heels.

(“Ass over tits,” his brain offered helpfully.)

(“Heels over head,” he corrected himself.)

“Lots, thanks,” Tim gave a wary little smile.

“ Wanna  watch another movie?”

“No, not really...”

Kon  nodded. “What do you want to do?”

Tim wanted to sleep in his arms, again. Or cuddle. Or cash in the offered hug from hours earlier. Or k—yeah, that one was too dangerous to even think.

“I’m kind of tired,” Tim said.

“Well, dinner should be soon, right?” Ah,  Kon . Always worrying. Always trying to help.

Tim’s smile softened. “It’ll sit, just fine, for another hour,” he said. That felt too brave to be coming out of his mouth. “And-and you don’t have to stay or anything. I can—it's—you don’t have to?”

“I  wanna ,”  Kon  gave an awkward shrug, shoulders catching the quilt and mattress. “If that’s okay.”

“Always,” Tim said. Too fast. He said it too fast. He felt  heat  rise from the depths of his embarrassment. God, why was he so awkward. “I mean, you can. If you really want. You just... don’t have to. I’d really like it if you stayed, though.” Great, he had one foot firmly in his mouth, already. Why not another?

Kon ’s smile was so...

So...

Tim couldn’t figure out how to describe  it.  Kind? Warm? Affectionate? Caring? All of that? More? Something else entirely? He pursed his lips and searched  Kon ’s expression.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Kon said. He removed his arm from Tim’s waist.

Tim missed the weight and safety (and rightness) of Kon’s arm around his waist immediately, but he rolled over to get comfortable, completely ignoring his pillows at the head of his mattress (he generally kicked them off the bed before settling down under the covers, anyway – he was a stomach sleeper). “Goodnight,” Tim mumbled.

Kon shifted on the bed.

Tim’s heart leapt into his throat (a bit aggressively, he might add) as Kon re-settled, just behind him, and put his arm back where it belonged.

Uh. Well. Not ‘belonged.’ (Yes, ‘belonged.’) Just. Where it was. Before.

“Is this alright?” Kon asked. His breath tickled the back of Tim’s neck.

“Fine,” Tim squeaked out, trying really hard not to be too giddy about it. Failing. “It’s... thank you.” Oh, god, that was stupid. Thank you? What kind of idiot—

“You’re welcome.” Kon chuckled. It was deep and fond and made Tim’s toes (what?) warm up with pure joy.

Tim managed to hold his tongue and not embarrass himself further as he drifted back into sleep. Kon held Tim right up to his chest, secure and safe and overwhelmingly happy, in spite of how low he had been before the nap and before the wonderfully stupid movie.

Shit, he was so far gone for Kon.

He was “Mr. Timothy Kent” levels of gone. He was “T hearts C” levels of gone. It was ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, now I'm thinking along the "Someone Walks In" trope lines, and if I keep thinking, I might have to write it. But *covers face* I'm so awkward and I write Tim so awkward. That might just be punishment for us both...!
> 
> We'll see.
> 
> Anywho: apologies for any formatting issues, sometimes the copy-paste into Rich Text does silly things along the lines of adding extra spaces here and there, no rhyme or reason. It is what it is, I suppose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a nap, but someone didn't set an alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one's a bit longer than the last, as well...
> 
> So, full disclosure: I thought this was really dumb, when I finished it, and was going to scrap it and try again. But forgot to. Then I reread it and...! It was still dumb. But kind of cute-dumb, so I decided I'd post it. But forgot to.
> 
> I'm not letting myself reread it again, yet, because I think I'll forget to post it (again) if I do. But yeah, it's dumb.
> 
> ...also, the formatting is absolute trash. I don't know why it keeps doing this to me, but I'm too tired to fix it. My favourite formatting misstep: "son oro us." It's still in there. I love that for me. Turning one word (sonorous) into three. Thumbs all the way up.

It was supposed to be, what?, like an hour? An hour more of sleep. A nap.

Tim really should have set an alarm of some kind.

Yeah, more effort and all that. But it’s just a tiny bit  harder to oversleep when you have an alarm ready to scream at you when it’s time to get up.

Tim did not have an alarm to scream at him. So, of course, he overslept.

Consequently (or maybe it was by choice?)  Kon  overslept, too.

The wakeup call could have definitely been more delicate.  But then again, Bart…? Bart wasn’t a delicate kind of person. He was a fast and loud kind of person.  And, being a fast and loud kind of person, he slammed open the door to Tim’s room at 8: 4 3 (according to the clock)  and proceeded to jump onto the bed. “ Hey! Hey! Hey!” he said. Then a more intense: “Hey!” followed by a gasp. “Hey, Tim, Conner’s in your—”

Kon , bless him, swiped Bart’s legs from under him and grumbled a “Jesus fucking Christ, Bart,  indoor voice.”

Bart hit the mattress and bounced right off, onto the floor.

“ That’s a taste of mode,” Bart mused.

“Carpet,” Tim mumbled.

“Yeah, that too.” Bart hopped back to his feet. “So, uh. This is cozy.  Kinda splains  why you two missed dinner, too. By like hours and hours. ” He was winding up, which meant something too fast and too loud was probably coming.

Kon  sat up and Tim rolled onto his back, into the warm spot  Kon  left. He couldn’t begin to recall the last time he’d felt so safe and calm and able to fall asleep and stay asleep.  If only  Kon  could, like, leave behind the aura of safety (and day-old YSL cologn e )  for Tim to take his catnaps in.  Or to sleep in.

Ha!

Sleep.

Tim didn’t do sleep. Just… naps.

Naps and triple-shot espresso coffees.

Kon  snorted and ran his fingers through Tim’s hair. It was nice. And the snort sounded fond. Probably. Maybe Tim was just reading into it.

“So, like …” Bart started.

“Don’t even,”  Kon  said.

“Kay. Um. Well.  We kept some stuff warm ‘n  in the microwave if you want anything.  I mean, if you want any of the dinner—” he went on for a bit, rambling off into  gradually tightening circles, each of which  said exactly the same thing as the last, but with more superfluous detail.

Kon  leaned over until he could just barely reach over the edge of the bed – Tim could feel the shift, more than see it, but he  _ could  _ see it, through his eyelashes – and swatted  at Bart. “Okay, we get it. Food in the microwave.” He sounded a bit grouchy, but that was par for the course.

Bart laughed. “ Icouldgetyouguyssome .”

“English,” Tim mumbled.

“Food. I could go get it.  For you.”

“Yeah, sure,”  Kon  said. He leaned back again (another whiff of  La Nuit De  L’homme , a shift in weight against the mattress, a warm brush of  Kon’s  forearm as he leaned his weight back) . “I don’t think Tim’s eaten all day.”

“I’ve eaten,” Tim said.

“Yeah? What and when?”

Tim must have been quiet too long. But he managed a: “Oatmeal. This morning.”  Even though he wasn’t sure if it was that morning or the previous morning. Or if it was oatmeal? It might have been some shitty barley and chia crap he’d tried to convince himself was oatmeal.

“Right, and I’m the President,”  Kon  said.

“ You are American-born,” Tim said. “You could totally run for president.”

Kon  poked him, so Tim finally gave in and opened an eye.

“What? You could.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” He rolled his eyes. Bart was already gone. And then back.  Kon  turned his attention back to the blur of auburn  and freckles and whistled. “Ever consider  working for, like,  Grub hub  or  DoorDash ?”

Bart laughed. Then got a little too thoughtful. “Actually…”

“Secret identities,” Tim cut in. He sat up to try and get a glimpse of the plates.

“But like. What if Impulse started working for one of them?”

“Social Security  is usually a required aspect of job acquisition,” Tim said. “Which you don’t have. Also name, address, phone number… those aren’t things you can really put down. As Impulse.  Or as Bart. I mean, what  would Bart Allen put down? The Garrick’s address and phone number? ”

Bart absently handed the plates to  Kon , still looking way too thoughtful.  “I mean, sure. But there are  options.  Right?”

“Uh. I mean.” Tim frowned. “If you really wanted to do something like that, I guess I could…”

“ Ohmygod  that would be  amazing!” Bart  was suddenly at Tim’s bedside, holding one of Tim’s hands in both of his own. “I could have a real job? Crash! Just like a real twenty-first century teenager, right? Like, that’s totally what ‘normal people’ do!”

Normal people. What a precious, strange creature.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh! Right! Are you and  Kon —”

Tim cut him off with a  hand wave that turned into a whack to the ribs, with his free hand. Because Bart actually hadn’t let got of his hold on Tim’s other hands. “Let’s not—that’s not something I want to—” He  gave a strangled little noise that he’d intended to be words.

“ Crash, very crash,” Bart nodded. Slowly. Exaggeratedly slowly. “Just two bros. Cuddling up. Sleeping together behind closed doors. Totally hetero—like it? Jaime taught me what that means!  Heteroooo . He also told me what some other things meant, which is crash, they weren’t nice things and I wouldn’t want  tostartusingthosewordsaccid —”

“ Baaart ,” Tim huffed.

“Bart,”  Kon  said, a lot more firmly.

Firmly and in t hat, like, son oro us , deep, almost growly tone that made him sound authorit ative and  unquestionable. And unbelievably hot.

God, Tim was so over emotions.

“Right. Bart,” Bart put his hands up and backed away. “Clearly not the time? Yeah, not the time. Hey? You hear that?  SoundslikeJaime . Cool, crash. I’m off .” He thumbed over his shoulder in the vaguest approximation of where the door was, then he was gone and the door was slammed shut.

Tim huffed again. “My door,” he complained.

“I’m sure your not-dad can afford a new one,”  Kon  said.

“A new one?”

“A better one.”

“A better one?”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“Don’t  you dare say ‘that one,’ ” Tim finally said. “This isn’t Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Are you saying I can’t be Will Turner?”

Tim snorted. “ You’re way more fit than Orlando Bloom.”

Tim had maybe a quarter of a second to panic about fucking  up and saying something Wrong and Telling before  Kon  responded. Maybe less than a quarter of a second. ( Kon  never seemed to leave him hanging out in his head too long.)

“ Yeah?  And I don’t even try,”  Kon  laughed. The big, nice , full laugh that made Tim feel like he was sitting in full sunlight  in a meadow or some shit, middle of spring  or something. Tim would do anything to, like, bottle that sound and save it for all of the bad days and long nights.

Tim would just straight up…

Die for  Kon .

But the best thing about  Kon  was totally that  Kon  wouldn’t let him do it.  Kon  would pull him right off of the precipice and tuck him in and make sure he ate and hydrated. He’d mother-hen the shit out of Tim.

“We should just start dating so that I can stop cutting Bart off,”  Kon  sighed. He passed Tim a plate. “It’s tiring. He keeps asking like it’s an inevitability.”

“That’s not really why people date, usually,”  Tim snorted.

It was just a joke. He didn’t need to get all warm in the face and. He was so warm in the face. His ears felt like they were burning. He accepted his plate on autopilot and looked down at it, tilting his head just so in the  twilit darkness  so that his fringes  could fall forward, between  Kon  and Tim’s very (very (very)) warm-feeling face.

“Nah, I know. But it’s a good excuse. Do you know how hard it is to ask a  Batkid  out?”

What?

“What?” Tim looked up.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying for months—”

“What?” Tim repeated.

“And we’re basically dating, already— ”

“Wh. What?” (Was Tim broken?)

“And  honestly, when was the last time we spent any significant time apart when the other’s in the same vicinity?”

“I mean. That’s a fair point.  But—”

“And I swear you buy me dinner more often than I buy myself anything, even fucking tee shirts—”

Abruptly , Tim realized  Kon  was rambling. Embarrassed or nervous or… something completely alien to his usually stoic nature. “Hey,” Tim reached out, balancing his plate in one hand, and put a hand on his forearm.  “Uh,  I’m sorry… I didn’t—maybe we should start over?”

“Right, sorry,”  Kon  gave him a crooked grin.

“No, I mean. I am super oblivious. I thought…” oh god, he could hear Point of  Know  Return (Kansas, nice)  playing in the back of his mind. A point of no return, then. Cool. “I really like you,” he forced himself to say, quickly. “I really, really like you and I want to date you and stuff but I didn’t—didn’t think you would like me back  so I didn’t. Do. Anything about it.”

His plate , Tim’s,  tipped a bit too much, losing some food (broccoli?). He righted his plate again.

“So,”  Kon  said.

“So…” Tim echoed back.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Let’s just… talk about it tomorrow or something,” Tim offered.

“That’d be nice—but, uh. I  wanna  date you, too. And stuff. Just so you know. I mean, I guess I already kind of told you that? But I don’t want you to think you said all that and now we’re in this weird limbo or anything?”

Tim nodded. “Sure. I mean…”

Kon  nodded back. 

“ Wanna —“ Tim glanced around the dark room. The TV was still on. The menu of Just My Luck still cycling. “ Wanna  watch another movie…?”

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like. Yeah. *finger guns*
> 
> College came up, so I was absent, even though I meant to post this. Then a CampNaNoWriMo came up (if you don't know what that is, I greatly encourage you to look into Camp and regular NaNoWriMo, especially if you like writing) so I was writing original fiction all month.
> 
> I've also been binging Star Trek: Voyager, watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, and giving Good Omens a go. Will I fic any of these? I dunno. But that's what I've been doing in free time, instead of writing fic. I figured I'd just tell the lot of you, since you're here anyway.
> 
> I think... that about covers is. If I add to this story again, it'll probably be as a sequel. A nice awkward sequel.
> 
> ...maybe.
> 
> Comment your favourite part? Mine is "Jesus fucking Christ, Bart, indoor voice."


End file.
